trees, and few seedlings were able to flourish in the gloom. Elsewhere in Chintal, where teak and sandalwood had been cut, allowing the sun to penetrate in great shafts to the forest floor, the undergrowth was profuse and their pace would have been that of the snail. But here was primal forest, virginal jungle. And it was, at this hour, silent — no birds singing, no monkeys gibbering or calling, no cicadas trilling. Silent, as it must have been at the Creation.
‘ “And here were forests ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery.” ’ Hervey was slowly regaining self-possession.
‘What is that?’ said the raj kumari.
He thought he had breathed it to himself. ‘Oh… a poet.’
‘Which poet?’ she demanded.
‘Coleridge,’ he whispered.
‘Coleridge is mad, is he not?’ she asked, scowling.
He cursed himself. Her father’s knowing had been one thing, but how in heaven’s name did
The sampera made a hissing sound to silence them both. She turned back and frowned — a sort of halfsmile, though its effect with Hervey was as potent as the fuller ones had been in the palace gardens. They walked in silence for another quarter of an hour, the conspiratorial closeness adding to the potency, for the raj kumari was stepping with growing care, glancing to right and left from time to time. Out of the sun it was cooler, but still warm, and the air, so laden with moisture that it was as some luxuriant shroud about them, seemed to be drawing Hervey by degrees into one with the spirit of the forest. The raj kumari had taken his hand when the sampera hissed, squeezing it in a gesture of reassurance, and he had not loosed it, so that now, moving a little ahead, she was leading rather than walking with him. Whether knowing or not, with every step he was further from the civilization that was his very being — and closer to a place of only primal forces.
In a while the sampera slowed, and soon he was stopped altogether, peering about him intently. And then with exhilaration, plain even in his whisper, he pointed ahead and to the right. ‘
She pulled Hervey close, gripping his hand even more firmly. He could feel her pulse, faster and faster — so near must be the deadly spirit of the forest. They searched hard, as the snake-catcher told them. There was so much green on the forest floor…
And then both saw her. Even though she was partially coiled, Hervey knew at once she was a serpent of altogether greater proportions than the palace charmer’s. She lay quite still, oblivious or not to their presence only a dozen yards away. He reached slowly, instinctively, for his sword — though he was not wearing it. The snake- catcher began to sway from side to side, humming to himself. The raj kumari began swaying, too; less extravagantly, but swaying nonetheless. The snake-catcher raised his hand carefully and began moving it, palm outward, across his face, eyes half-closed — slowly, gently, this way and then that, several minutes passing in a profound silence, nor with any motion on the forest floor, only the swaying of the sampera and the raj kumari.
The silence ended with the faintest sound, the merest rustle, difficult to identify and impossible to locate: a sound perceptible only to those whose senses were heightened, who were alert as if their very lives were threatened… The sampera froze, and then slowly lowered his hand. Hervey felt the tingling in his neck and down his spine, as intense as anything he had known. He put a hand slowly to the raj kumari’s shoulder and held her, as still as if they had been the very trees of the forest, the danger as great as any he had faced — wholly defenceless. The hamadryad rose up. She stood two-thirds his height, as tall as the sampera himself. She looked at them, moving hardly at all, her great hood spread, exposing the creamy bands, her eyes cold, mesmerizing — as if she knew the evil she could deal them in a second. Hervey knew, too: she would be able to strike all of them before any might run clear. She turned slowly to one side, to the cause of her rousing: another hamadryad, a male, edging towards her, slowly, cautiously.
For what seemed an age he inched closer to her. She stayed upright, hood spread, ready to strike him in an instant. He crawled in a careful circle about her, and then, even more cautiously, crept the length of her body, to where it rose from the ground, never himself rising above an inch. He began to stroke her flank with his head — slowly, ever so gently at first, for any misjudgement would bring her needle fangs to his neck. As slowly, she lowered herself, and his stroking became more insistent. Gently but purposefully he began to coil about her — still slowly,
Hervey did not see the sampera slip away, spellbound as he was by the serpents’ slow, deliberate writhing. The cold tingling had turned to heat: a curious, inflaming heat. The raj kumari, her leg pressing against his, was swaying once more, moving against him, as the male hamadryad had done with the female. The heat grew as she seemed to coil around him, aroused by the potency of what was happening only yards away. An age seemed to pass as the serpents coiled and moved against each other… And then the raj kumari was pulling him towards her, and he could hear nothing for the confusion inside, and he could see nothing for the mist about his eyes. He could only feel the ancient rite of the forest claiming him, and the lust to imitate the writhing of the hamadryads, the elemental forces of the forest.
Then came the sudden, monstrous hissing. Like a cold douche. They looked in terror to where the cobras coiled, the mouth of one about the other’s neck, coiling now turned to violent thrashing. Hervey sprang to his feet, pulling the raj kumari after him. They fled the trysting place, straining every muscle to give speed to their limbs. As sometimes in his dreams, he felt as if no effort, however great, could make them work. They ran, and ran, and ran, not daring to glance back, fearing any moment the cobra’s strike would halt their flight. They fled along the gaur track, darker now than it had first seemed, Hervey clutching the raj kumari’s hand, pulling her with all his strength, until at last they stumbled from the forest into half-blinding sunlight.
XII. RACE TO THE SWIFT
As Hervey entered, his host held out his hand. They were to dine alone, and all but the khansamah had been dismissed. ‘Captain Hervey,’ began the rajah, his face not as grave as in the morning, ‘I have here a letter for you, just come — brought this day from the Collector of Guntoor by dak. And with uncommon velocity, I might say.’
Hervey wondered on what matter the collector might write to him, and took the letter curiously. Then he saw the hand.
‘It is not inclement news, I trust?’ asked the rajah solicitously.
‘I do not suppose it to be, Your Highness. It is a letter from the lady I am to marry. I… I am astonished that it should find me here!’
‘Do not be, Captain Hervey: we are hardly a primitive tribe of Africa here in Chintal.’
Hervey was discomfited by the rebuke. ‘Sir, I did not mean… it is just that she had every reason to suppose me in Calcutta or even Haidarabad.’
‘And how was the letter addressed?’ he asked, still kindly.
Hervey glanced at it again. ‘Captain M. P. Hervey, Aide-de-Camp to the Duke of Wellington, India.’
‘In which case there can be no surprise, for such a letter, were it to be misdirected or delayed, would bring severe opprobrium on the official concerned. This is India, Captain Hervey: the duke’s name still inspires a respect verging on reverence.’
Hervey nodded, gladly acknowledging his error.
‘And now you would wish to read it in some privacy, of course. I shall retire for one half-hour and then, if it is agreeable to you, we shall resume our intercourse.’
When the rajah was gone, Hervey opened the letter. But he did so hesitantly, taking care to preserve as much of Henrietta’s seal as he could. He unfolded the single sheet; only the one — not a propitious sign. He began
